


The Story of a Z Addict

by cadkitten



Category: Dir en grey, Repo! The Genetic Opera (2008)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Cumshot, Drug Use, Explicit Language, Fluff, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masochism, Multi, Oral Sex, Prostitution, Surgery, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-23
Updated: 2009-01-23
Packaged: 2017-11-29 10:40:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/686011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cadkitten/pseuds/cadkitten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Die's living the life of a prostitute, caught between his payments to Gene Co. and his need for his next fix of Zydrate, the addictive painkiller. Kyo's a local Yakuza head and he's addicted to Die.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Story of a Z Addict

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't seen it... go, go, go! Repo! The Genetic Opera is cracktastic love. In the scalpel sluts scene... look for the red-head that looks like Die's VK days. Oh, yeah, and the fact that Yoshiki is executive producer might also make you want to go. Violet UK in the ending credits, guys. See it, buy it... yeah, I'm pimping that shit.  
> Beta Readers: darkfoxprime  
> Song[s]: "Sex & Religion (Test Mix)" by Violet UK  
> Picture: [Grave Robber](http://i102.photobucket.com/albums/m89/cadkitten/GraveRobber.jpg)

Die POV

Every cut felt like heaven, the sting of the scalpel pulling over my skin, taking away another piece of something my lifestyle had ruined. That was the second surgery, the feeling of it. But, it all actually started three years ago, a day I still remember so clearly, even in the foggiest moments between hits of Z, I feel it still.

My kidney shut down at the age of nineteen. Something genetic, they said. Some vague part of me remembers my mother saying she had had that problem. But it's just a distant memory now, something from my past... a past I don't care about anymore. I had a job, a respectable heir on the way to the top of a company. Even at nineteen, I was nothing short of a genius. Thick glasses and the look of a high school bookworm.

As I lay there in the hospital bed, I thought of the end of the world. A waiting list miles long for an organ I'd never get. And then... the answer to my prayers. Gene Co. - the industry leader in financed organs. They came to me late one night after most of the hospital staff had gone home and they offered me a dream come true. A new kidney for what seemed a reasonable price.

I signed the paperwork, signed it in blood. And with it, I signed my soul away. I didn't know it at the time, but it would come to pass. That very same night, they took me away, slipped me from the hospital and into their own clinic. There, they gave me a pain killer that would become my life. Zydrate - the ultimate drug; addictive, wonderful, and a blessing. You could feel the cut of the blade, but it didn't feel like pain anymore. Floating on cloud nine from an injection of the glowing blue liquid, I lay there in their filthy lab, waiting on an organ I never thought I'd get.

They cut me open, not even explaining the process and ripped my old kidney from me, putting in a new one... one with what I recall to be a barcode on the bottom of it. Gene Co. it read. Reasonable, I thought. A mark of what they could do for humanity... of what they were doing for it.

I woke up in an alleyway, stitched up and in absolute agony. I had no idea how many hours had passed and I could barely find my way home after that. It felt like... like death was breathing down my neck. And maybe it was. The potential for infection had to be huge and that alone should have scared me. But I couldn't think right, my mind fuzzy. I felt as if I were clawing my way out from under the worst hangover ever.

When I got home, I tried every painkiller in my shelf. Nothing even began to touch the agony I felt inside. I was on fire and freezing at the same time. Blood soaked my white shirt and I thought for sure I'd made the biggest mistake of my life.

Three nights later, I found someone, a man with a promise. His pale face so beautiful in the darkened alley as he provided me the complimentary hit of 'stolen' Zydrate. Instantly, I felt better. It didn't just take the edge off the pain, it took it all away. Cloud nine was far below me as I hovered over it all. Sweet blue ice in my veins. I paid him all the money in my pocket for an injection gun and the rest of the vial of my blissful savior. He took it with a grin on his face.

A week later and I'd run out. I found him again, but by then I'd had to make the first payment on my new organ and I was flat broke. Reasonable for life-saving... not for keeping food on the table or a roof over my head. Rent was due soon and I had to get more Z. I'd started calling it that somewhere along about the eighth time I shot myself up with it. It's hard to think much on things when you're off it, so it was just easier to call it by what I had dubbed as it's 'street name'.

I found the man again, he called himself 'the grave robber'. I still don't know why I asked him how he got his Z, but I did. I remember feeling sick for about two seconds... and then changing my life with my next question. I didn't have anything to offer him, but I needed my fix. The pain was so great, so intense, and I just couldn't deal with it on my own.

"I have no money. What can I do instead of paying?" I remember the words coming from my mouth, so innocent and so naive.

And I remember the look on his face, the way his eyes took on a darker hue as he regarded me. "How much are you willing to do?"

"Anything." I was so sincere. I would have given him anything but my life for that little blue vial.

He shrugged and then the next thing I knew, I was on my knees, his cock in my mouth as I blew a man for the first time in my life. It wasn't so bad. Would have been better if I hadn't been in blinding pain the entire time. I hurt everywhere, my insides crawling with agony and my mind muddled from it. He tasted like salt and his cum no worse than my own as it slid down my throat that night.

He shot me up with some right there; just after tucking his cock back in. It felt like nothing I've ever felt before. Instant gratification. He came, I found heaven. It worked for us.

A month later found me living on the streets, my job a thing of the past and my inheritance a moot point. I lived for nothing but that next fix of Z and the feeling I got from it. Addicted was an understatement. It was the reason I lived and breathed.

I found more dealers than just 'the grave robber', finding others who would give me what I needed in return for sexual favors. Man, woman, it didn't matter. Age didn't matter. Nothing except that next hit mattered. I don't even remember eating or drinking. I just remember the spans of time between each injection - the searing pain, the frustration and need. The burning inside my head and the tears in my eyes.

It was raining one night, the falling drops heavy on my body. I'd just gone and finished paying off my last payment for my kidney. But I still owed on the other surgery... the one for the facial reconstruction I had done the week before. A 'client' had taken his rage out on me, leaving me with more than enough to pay off my first surgery and just enough to sign my life away to get the second one that I needed to put myself back together in some kind of recognizable format. Broken cheek bones, a completely shattered eye socket.... and not to mention the eye he pulverized.

Walking out of the clinic that night, high on the best fix of Zydrate I'd had in over a year... I knew I'd never pay this one off by myself. I looked... like a bruised, bloody version of myself. And they replaced both eyes, gave me better eyesight than I had before that. It was nothing short of a miracle. And the fact that I'd signed my life away on the dotted line didn't fucking matter. In fact, nothing much mattered that night.

But in the rain, a week later, my last hit a day prior... something mattered. Z fucking mattered. I couldn't even walk anymore. I just sat in the pouring rain, my tears mixing with the drops from the sky, my body shaking from the pain of it all. It coursed through my veins, making me feel like I'd die in the next minute without Z. I was moaning in pain, I know I was. It was those moments that gave me crystal clarity. Those precious seconds that I wanted out of it all and back into what had once been my normal life. But that part of me that still retained the IQ of a genius told me I would never see that side of a desk again in this lifetime. I'd sold my life away right along with my soul. The price - one kidney. The owner - Gene Co.

The last thing I remember before passing out was a man, short and blonde, tattoos everywhere, asking me if I was okay. Hours later, I woke up in a bed. Soft, cushioning - something my body hadn't felt in almost a year. I was naked and I could hear the sound of a dryer running. Familiar, yet so distant in my past. The scent of stir-fry greeted my nose... and then the pain hit me full-force.

I lay there, crying as I tried so hard not to scream, my hands clutching at the pristine white of the bed sheets as I trembled. I needed it; I needed Z so bad I could taste it. Which was odd, given that I'd never tasted the shit before in my life. My gun... my injection gun was in those clothes. Had whoever I was with taken it? I panicked, clawing my way out of the bed and landing hard on the carpeted floor, knocking the wind out of me. I'd become far too thin... emaciated almost and moving was something I usually only did while high... or during sex.

And then he was there, that blonde with all the tattoos and the fiercest eyes I'd ever seen in my life. He didn't even hesitate. He just picked me up and put me back on the bed, giving me an irritated look before he left the room again. Soon enough, he was back, a plate of the stir-fry and a glass of water in hand. He set the plate on the bed next to me, handing me the glass, and then sitting there expectantly.

I stared at him and then the food. I would, but I couldn't. I was in agony and there was no way I could eat like that. "Z... I need Z. I can't..." my voice sounded pathetic, even to my own ears.

He got up and when he came back, he was holding my injection gun and a mostly empty vial of the precious blue liquid. Rather than tossing it at me like I'd expected - a manner in which so many of my clients usually did, resulting more than once in a broken vial and crying fits from myself - he took my arm, yanking it out and setting the gun against a vein with an expertise I'd never dreamed of. The needle shot home and my veins flooded with icy relief. The shaking stopped and I could feel it take the edge off. That much wasn't enough for me anymore, but it was at least enough to function.

"Thank you." Whispered words to leave my lips just before he gestured at the food again, grunting as a way of response. I remember wondering if he was mute or something, but I just went with it, eating the food like a starving man, something I'd regret later. The water followed just as quickly. Clean... blissfully so. It was only then that I realized I was clean - my body free of grime and my hair damp and smelling faintly like this stranger.

I just stared at him, wondering why I'd been brought to his home and wondering if this was some kind of trap. Maybe it'd been longer than a week and he was one of these Repo Men I kept hearing about. "Are you a Repo Man?"

He shook his head, smiling at me in an almost scary manner. "Yakuza. I have nothing to do with Gene Co. nor will I ever. I despise them and all that they are."

I remember simply nodding, not saying anything more on it. I couldn't. I had been to them twice and my eyes gave away just how much of a scalpel slut I'd become. For only one of them would allow surgery that was unnecessary - even I knew that.

He held up three vials, enough to last me a week, showing them to me. "They're yours if you let me ease my urges with you."

Something close to elation filled me and instantly, I nodded. "Anything you want." And by that point in my life, I meant it. Anything. I'd had it all done to me. Degradation, humiliation, suffocation. I'd been left for dead more than once. And this guy didn't seem to be the type for that at least.

He stood, his robe slipping from his shoulders and falling to the floor, to pool there. Nothing but the tattoos on his body to cover him. A few stray piercings, the metal gleaming in the light. A tiger and flames on his side and the most elaborate dragon on his back. He turned as if to display himself to me, his eyes glittering faintly as my own feasted on him. I never got the attractive ones - aside from my 'grave robber'. Even my desensitized body wanted him - and that surprised me more than anything. Whatever he was going to give, I wanted it.

As he lowered himself to the bed, my eyes trailing over the two full-sleeves of tattoos decorating his arms, he smiled. It was... almost gentle. All the same, I knew my place, my way, and I moved to turn over, to present him with my ass so he could take what he wanted. But his hands stopped me, pushed me to the bed on my back and held me there, his lips sliding down my neck and across my collarbone.

Excitement built up inside me, my body shaking from it. Never had someone paid attention to me during these acts. I didn't know what to expect, how to react. In so many ways, I was still the naive teenager I had been that first time I dropped to my knees. His fingers danced over my body with a skill I only hoped to have one day, his hands pulling sounds from my throat that I didn't know I could make. My nerves tingled with a new kind of pleasure, something else I knew I was destined to become addicted to as well.

It didn't take me long to cum by his hand, spilling myself over my own abdomen with an almost animal cry. And that had been only the beginning. Hours later, he'd drawn so many orgasms from my body that I felt tired and completely spent. His own cum had been carefully deposited within the many condoms that littered the floor. I could still hear his moans and sounds of satisfaction ringing in my ears, even as he shot me up with another hit of Z, using my inner thigh to do it.

He let me sleep there, telling me to be out by noon. He set the alarm by his bed and got up, dressing and leaving. As I left that day, five minutes to noon, I wondered if I'd ever see him again. His beautiful body, marked forever as one of his kind.

Months passed and every client that came and went, I searched for him, longed for that pleasure again. The Z kept coming and I kept up my payments to Gene Co. knowing I had to or I'd pay. Just when I'd given up hope of ever seeing him again, he came to me, finding me coming down off the edge of a fix, stumbling through the back alleys, looking for someone to hook myself out to. And there he was, a pinstripe suit and perfect hair, even on a windy night such as it was.

It was fast that time, a once over in the grungy alley, his payment a single vial and a reach-around. I came for the first time since I'd seen him and I was certain the entire neighborhood knew it from the way I screamed.

From that point on, he showed up about once a week. Never the same place or the same time. It was as if he just instinctively knew where to find me. Every time with him was an adventure. It varied as to how he wanted it, where he wanted it and as to if he was going to keep me the night at his place or not. It was always welcome, no matter what happened between us.

On the nights he'd take me home with him, we'd hold quiet conversations over meaningless things, talking until one of us fell asleep. He'd feed me and I'd always make the same mistake of eating too much, too fast and end up paying for it later.

Before I knew it, two years had passed and I was down to three more payments for my last operation. I found myself a day late and a dollar short - so to speak. I couldn't pay up. No one had given me anything but Z as payment and I hadn't found anyone I was capable of robbing. I'd thought on stealing something from my Yakuza guy, but I figured with that, I'd pay with my life anyway. Either way, I was a dead man.

For two days, I hid myself away, scared of every sound, every movement. Scared of things that didn't exist just as much as those that did. I was terrified to the point of near insanity. When he showed up, I lashed out, coming at him with a sharp piece of glass. He fought me off as if I were nothing, knocking me out and taking me with him.

I woke in his house with him sitting on the edge of the bed, staring tiredly at me. He looked... worn. Like he'd had a bad day. And his eyes held something close to pity.

"Die..." he didn't have to ask anything. The way he spoke my name asked it all for him and that was more than enough.

I rolled over, curling up and clutching the pristine pillow. Once again, I was naked and washed up. He was always so careful. "I couldn't pay. The Repo Man is coming for me." The words slipped from my mouth as if water from a broken dam.

"How late are you?"

"Three days." I was shaking again, the last hit of Z wearing off.

I felt the sting of the needle before I even realized he was doing it, and then the sweet icy cold that brought relief.

"What's your account under?" He stood up, pulling a suit jacket over the white dress shirt he'd been wearing.

"Andou Daisuke," I answered without thinking about what it meant.

His eyes turned on me, pity and something close to shock in them. "Andou," he whispered before shaking his head. "How far the mighty do fall." I watched him strap on a gun and then put that fedora on his head as he checked his pockets for keys. "Stay here. I want you here when I get back." _'Or I will hunt you down and kill you.'_ Men like him didn't need to voice their threats; they just hung in the air around them as a permanent reminder of what they were.

Somewhere between him leaving and coming back, I fell asleep. I woke as the door rattled when he closed it behind him. Wiping my eyes, I sat up and yawned, watching him move around the apartment, depositing items of clothing in various places and his gun back on the hook where he kept it.

A piece of paper landed on my lap and I picked it up, opening it and reading it. My contract, the completion of it signed in red ink rather than blood. The total sum paid in full and my debt absolved. My blood ran hot for the first time in three years. The knowledge that I was... dare I say... free - skittering across my nerves.

The creak of the bed reminded me he was there. My knight in... okay, so it wasn't shining armor, but he was sexy enough and I supposed the tattoos counted as some kind of armor. I smiled for the first time I could remember.

His fingers skimmed over my lips, an answering smile on his own full lips. "I've taken care of your debt." His hand fell to his lap and a far away look entered his eyes as he spoke. "How do you propose to repay me?"

I stared at him, my heart beating quickly in my chest. I would have said I'd give him sexual favors, but I had already given him that. I couldn't give him the cash back because that would just put me in debt to a Yakuza. I didn't know what would be worse - Gene Co. or a Yakuza. The only thing I could think of was that I'd give myself to him completely and eternally. A contract of heart, body, and soul. "I'll give you everything I have. My heart, my body, and my soul."

The way he looked at me, the sadness in his eyes that was simply a fleeting glimmer. It struck me as almost odd. "Not your soul. That is yours again and so it shall stay." His lack of objection to the rest told me he agreed and that was all I needed to know.

Hours later, I lay by his side, my body still tingling from combination of Z and enough orgasms I couldn't count them. This would be the life, I could already tell. I didn't have to leave and he still gave me pleasure. It all led me to ask the question I'd had for almost two years now. "What's your name?"

A ghost of a smile. "Kyo.... call me Kyo."

"Kyo." I said it as if testing it out on my tongue, looking to him to make certain I said it right. When he nodded, I grinned and said it again. "Kyo."

That night will be forever etched into my mind. But it still cannot rival last night. Nothing can.

Together, Kyo and I sat in a restaurant. My first time out in years. We both wore suits, custom made and classy. My red hair sticking out like a sore thumb in the place, but his blonde almost equally as exotic. Besides, everyone knew not to mess with Kyo or his guest.

I'd grown to be slim and fit, his training and diligent work of making me eat properly paying off. I was almost off Z, only needing the smallest of amounts in the dead of the night. He'd been weaning me off it like one weaned a baby from a bottle. I felt better than I think I ever had, even before this whole mess started. Four years, three months, and seventeen days - a whole new life for me and the peak of his.

The night went on, him taking me through my old streets, his hand offering a few bills here and a few there. His generosity never ceases to amaze me. But with no one has he ever been so generous as he was with me. I was a special case... or so he'd told me. And I'm inclined to believe him.

What some would regard as a requirement, a contract to fulfill, I instead view as a pleasure and a way of life. He doesn't treat me like a slave and I don't regard myself as one. Rather, I am his lover and he is mine. I think we both like it better that way.

No sooner had we arrived back at the apartment than he took me to the balcony and turned me to face him as he smoothly pulled me flush against him, kissing me in a way he'd never kissed me before. I reveled in it, basked in the warmth of it, as I returned it just as passionately.

When he pulled away, his eyes shone with emotion, his fingers grasping my hand, rubbing over the tattoo I'd gotten at his request a number of months before. "Die..."

He paused so long that I couldn't help but try to get him to continue. "Yes?"

"I love you."

And just like that... my life was complete. My answer came to him many times that night, cried and screamed and whispered as we made love. It was only then that I understood the difference between what he'd always been doing to me and what everyone else had done. They fucked... he made love.

And tonight, as I sit here, his arms wrapped around my naked body, I know that this is my place. I'd give anything for him... and I think he knows it. My savior... my naked knight in tattoos. And the love of my life.

**The End**  



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